


In the Forest They Found Fate

by crazyparakiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Extreme AU, Fluff, M/M, Mating, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Smidge Of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry didn’t want to mate, but Fate’s never much cared for the desires of others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Forest They Found Fate

**Author's Note:**

> I played fast and loose with the prompt.

**Title:** In the Forest They Found Fate  
 **Author:** [](http://crazyparakiss.livejournal.com/profile)[**crazyparakiss**](http://crazyparakiss.livejournal.com/)  
 **Prompt:** #71 In a highly ritualised magical world, Harry is identified at a young age as a breeder. This is such a prestigious and precious status, he is cherished and protected, and enters training early to become the perfect mate for his chosen partner. In a special ceremony everyone celebrates because Draco is identified as his Chosen in a match full of promise, fate and strength. Harry completes his final year of training, especially tuned to his future mate. However, before the final bonding ceremony, an horrific traumatic event happens. Though he survives, it may be that Harry may never carry a child, and Draco is permitted to break their Promising. Dear author, please take me on their journey to parenthood, and their happy ever after.  
 **Prompt Submitted By:** [](http://blissed-bess.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://blissed-bess.livejournal.com/)**blissed_bess**  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.  
 **Warning(s):**  
 **Epilogue compliant?** No. It’s AU all the way.  
 **Word Count:** 3.200  
 **Summary:** Harry didn’t want to mate, but Fate’s never much cared for the desires of others.  
 **Author's Notes:** I played fast and loose with the prompt.

Every time the arrow struck its target, Harry felt a thrill zing up his spine. Archery was much more interesting than his lessons—the lessons meant to bore him to death—lessons intended to train him for his distant future. Though Harry couldn’t really see how proper dress, etiquette, child rearing, and ‘maintaining the home’ might prepare him for his future.

Wars were not won by making tea—words his father used to speak. Since his death, Harry had been repeatedly told that he would _not_ be directly involved in war _ever_. His keepers, his Aunt Petunia—his dead mother’s sister—and his Uncle Vernon, didn’t share his father’s beliefs that Harry should be raised like a proper element wielding male.

“It stinks of the female,” Uncle Vernon had complained on more than one occasion. “We’ll never be rid of it unless we train it up right—mate it off and be done with this buggery of witchery.”

Harry hated being referred to as _it_. Most nights he’d listen to them speaking, loudly, together in their small kitchen. And he’d wish for someone to come and steal him away.

“If father were here,” he’d whisper to himself when no one came to wish him pleasant dreams. “If father were here I would still be wanted.”

Moonlight poured in through his curtains one such evening and he stared up at the pale beauty of the sphere—then suddenly a thought whispered through his mind and a smile formed as he slipped from the bed.

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice. “We’ll ride tomorrow to meet them at the forest’s entrance?”

Uncle Vernon grunted in response, then elaborated with, “Says he wants to inspect it before he gives his it to his son as a mate—not sure what that means but we’ll sort the details after we’ve got it there.”

“Are we to pay them to take it?” Her worry always for the gold in her purse, not the well-being of her sister’s only child.

A gruff laugh boomed through the small space the walls created. “The best part is he’ll pay us to take it, apparently elemental mates are rare and so he’s willing to pay us a hefty sum.” Aunt Petunia’s answering laugh was a shrill poison that dove into Harry, swimming in his blood—trying to impair him with its shrewd intentions.

Resolve strengthened, he took only the red cape which had once belonged to his mother, his father’s old dagger, a book given to him by the werewolf Lupin, and the mirror which had been a gift from Sirius. A quick trip to the store room filled his rucksack with cheeses, breads, a small bag of rice, and a few vegetables. The supply would last him for a few days—a week if he was lucky.

 

 

###

 

 

He hadn’t found suitable vegetation or game in days. His bread had mould growing and his cheeses were beyond edible. By the third night of his hunger Harry was desperate—his relatives often used starving him as a method of control, but they usually never denied him food for more than a day. And now that he was so weak—so vulnerable—from starvation he was starting to regret his decision to run away.

Harry’s regret tripled when a low growl sounded from somewhere to his left. When he tried to move, the growl came louder. So with a tired smile Harry laid back, looked up at the pitch-black sky dotted with stars, and decided if Death was meant to take him then Death could have him. It would mean escaping his life of wedded imprisonment, and didn’t he want that more than anything—more than life even?

His eyes slipped closed behind his mangled glasses and he took a deep breath. Waiting was always the hardest part—the short eternity between now and the end of his life, it dragged on forever. And when he opened his eyes to glance around Harry noticed that nothing had changed. Nothing had changed, but the silence that now surrounded him. The silence which held no trace of a growl. He frowned in confusion.

As he sat up a different noise met his sensitive ear—a low moan, like a dying animal, and he decided he should crawl closer to the sound.

Harry hadn’t moved far when a rustle came through the trees and out stepped a man. Fate was some foolish mistress Harry had never believed in—she was a temptress who promised glory but led men to their greatest downfalls, and yet she was praised for her abilities despite her underhanded ways. No, Fate had never been Harry’s closest consort but he could tell she had sent this man to meet him. It was as if it were written in the oldest scrolls of time—this meeting. He had hair as pale as the moon and eyes grey as stone, and when his gaze met Harry’s, Harry felt as if he’d known this man his whole life long. It was unnerving to say the least.

“Get up,” a cool voice came from between pale lips. “More will be coming soon.”

Harry hesitated for only a second, but in the end he went with his instincts and followed the man back to a hut further south of the small clearing.

Pleasantries were not exchanged—Harry was forced to sit near a small makeshift table of rock and a wooden bowl filled with some kind of soup was shoved into his hands. “Eat—you look underfed.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and thought about retorting when the divine smell of his food derailed his train of thought—he’d been hungry for days, food took precedence over argument. In the light of a candle Harry could see that this man was closer to his age than he had previously thought. He couldn’t be more than twenty summers, but his eyes were far wiser than Harry’s—as if he had seen more horrors—they reminded Harry of his father’s eyes.

His silent companion fed him three bowls of soup, and he only stopped when Harry told him he was beginning to feel ill from being too full.

When the man went to stroke the fire in the centre of this hut Harry spoke. “Why did you bring me here?”

For a long time quiet filled the space between them and Harry was getting irritated, wondering if his companion had heard him at all when finally the man replied, “You stink of the female.” The way he spoke was not angry or full of resentments such as his aunt and uncle had been when they threw out the term female. This man said it as if the truth of the statement bothered him as much as a slight change in weather.

“I am a female,” Harry said—with less anger and bitter resentment than when he thought upon that truth in private. “Then at the same time I am not.”

“You are both.”

“Yes.”

Hush fell once more, blanketing them in a tension Harry didn’t understand. He was about to speak more, ask questions of his companion, but he wasn’t given the chance when the man said, “Winter falls soon—it will cover this forest faster and harder than other places. You may leave to make yourself a shelter, if you wish, but I don’t believe you will survive if you choose that course.”

“My other option,” Harry demanded.

“You could stay here with me,” he turned to face Harry as he spoke. Those stony eyes calm and piercing as they fell on Harry’s form, “But I will mate you if you stay.”

He sucked in a breath as he remembered the mate he was bound to by a pre-contract, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be mated—he was not yet owned. Swallowing hard he said, “What if I refuse you?”

A humourless smile tipped up the corners of this man’s mouth. “You won’t be able to refuse me when I begin—I cannot deny my heat when an unbound female is near, I’ve denied it for too long as it is.” He stood and Harry scrambled away. His actions caused the man to laugh in scorn. “If it is too much for you I will not stop you from leaving.”

“What sort of choice is this: sex or die, it seems terribly unfair,” Harry protested loudly.

“I have news for you, Female, life is horribly unfair.”

Harry jumped up from his sitting position and shoved at the man’s hard chest, “I have a name, so I’d thank you not to address me as _female_!”

“Tell me your name and I will call you by that name.” His inability to sound anything more than apathetic was starting to irritate Harry as nothing before had.

“It’s Harry,” he bit out.

“Harry,” he repeated, “That’s a bit dull.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed and an amused grin started to stretch across his companion’s face, as if he enjoyed riling Harry up. “What’s your name then, I imagine it’s something horribly posh and hard to pronounce.”

“Draco,” he replied, his grin never wavered. Harry huffed and muttered ‘I knew it’ while Draco chuckled.

 

 

###

 

 

It happened while they were out on the hunt—the accident. Harry hadn’t been paying attention; too busy arguing with Draco over which way they should journey. Harry swore the game was more to the east and Draco told him the best game was to the north.

“Why aren’t you listening to me,” Harry shouted, annoyed with the fact Draco did not slow down or acknowledge him.

And then it happened—the beast attacked from Harry’s left. His distraction with Draco kept him from detecting the imminent assault. It was on him, its teeth sank into his body, below his stomach and in the area of his groin. Draco rounded—his sword out quickly as he lunged with the blade and his eyes alight with magic as he shot non-verbal attacks at the large beast trying to eat Harry.

The creature didn’t fall easily, but Draco had successfully lured it away from Harry’s pain ridden body. After a short, brutal fight, it fell heavily at Draco’s feet. He re-sheathed is sword and hurried to gather Harry into his arms. “Put me down,” Harry said weakly.

“You’ve been injured. I will not leave you to die.” Harry snorted, of course not Draco needed to mate—it was in his blood after all.

In the hut Draco sat him gently on the lumpy bed before he tossed the carcass of Harry’s assailant on the floor near the small pool of water he kept in the enclosure. Then he was back at Harry’s side with a cool bowl of water for him to drink.

“This may hurt,” Draco warned as he leaned Harry back—his hands on the wound pressed into the abused flesh and Harry howled.

“It does hurt,” he growled at Draco when Draco quit applying pressure. Draco frowned at the wound and Harry demanded to know if he would be all right. “You will live, I have stopped the bleeding—but your womb may be lost. I am not a Healer, Harry—I cannot repair such damages if there were any.”

Harry was only worried over his womb because that could mean a loss of his place in this hut—and winter was coming, swift and without warning she would blanket them soon. “What of your mating,” Harry whispered—worried, now that he thought Draco might sacrifice him to the harsh world.

However, his jaw line tightened and he said, “I will fall prey to madness if I do not mate this winter—I am already old for our kind, as are you—my magic will punish me if I wait longer, the mating will proceed as planned.”

Harry let out a mental sigh of relief. Then Draco was speaking again. “Winter is almost here—I will go out and finish the hunt. Once the snow starts it doesn’t end for weeks.”

True to his prediction winter fell upon them within two weeks, and she brought wind, ice, and snow. Every time the wind whistled past the wooden walls of the hut Harry felt a chill settle deeper into his bones and his newly healed wound would ache.

Draco kept him busy with menial tasks: washing, preparing supper, mending clothing, and preparing Draco’s baths in the evenings. Harry was annoyed at the end of their first month. Mostly Draco slept during the days, and practiced with his sword and magic at night.

“Why am I the one doing all the work during the days,” Harry finally asked one evening when Draco was practicing sword techniques.

“Because if we are both up, maintaining contact, and becoming friendly my heat will come sooner—or yours might. I want this on our terms,” he said with a cool look in Harry’s direction. “I want you and I to be welcoming to the mating.”

“What’s there to welcome—it’s a bit cold. All I can think of that might be welcoming is the warmth.” Draco smiled in response.

Over the next night’s supper Draco asked, “Have you ever wielded a sword?”

“When my father was alive he showed me,” Harry replied between spoonfuls of the stew he’d been told to prepare. “He showed me a bit of defensive magic as well, we’d talked of learning the offensive strike just before his passing.”

“Your keepers now do not train you?” Draco frowned.

“They are Muggle and believe females should be raised vapid and without knowledge of the fight.”

Draco’s scowl intensified. “They mean to make you weak and worthless.”

“Not worthless to them,” Harry said with a bitter edge. “They are selling me off to some pureblood elemental.”

Draco was silent but Harry thought his mind must have been awhirl with thoughts what with how bright and alert his eyes were. His gaze snapped towards their makeshift door after he appeared to have reached some mental conclusion. “I will return.”

“Where are you going?”

Draco waved him off, but Harry could hear his near silent murmur, “Father, _this_ is the female you sought?” Louder, meant for Harry to heed, Draco said, “There is a familiar scent on the wind—I will be with you again soon.”

Harry thought to question Draco about his father, but decided against it when he saw the thoughtful furrow of Draco’s usually smooth forehead. “Be safe,” he said instead.

 

 

###

 

 

The winter dragged on for what felt like years but was in fact months. Harry took to joining Draco in his morning practice and Draco took to teaching Harry—mostly because he enjoyed teasing him for his less than perfect technique.

“You’ve hardly any finesse,” Draco said one morning when he showed Harry the footwork once again. “You make it too complicated—you should feel, not think. Instinct is what makes the warrior. If you know it here,” he touched the place over Harry’s heart, “Then it will be so.”

Harry wanted to laugh but he had to swallow a lump in his throat instead—Draco really was a lot like his father, James.

 

###

 

One morning, when the fires burning in the large pit did nothing to scratch at the chill, Harry fell into his heat.

He was writhing on the bed in needy agony when Draco came in from the cold. An unholy wail escaped him as Draco’s scent reached him—full of spice and wood.

“Harry,” he whispered, growling when Harry opened his robe—filling the room with of his aroused scent. “I am going to mate you now.”

“Please,” Harry begged.

Clothing was ripped in their haste. Draco was gentler than Harry—then again, he seemed less desperate. Pale fingers stroked Harry’s warm skin—chilling him as Draco hadn’t had the time yet to warm up from his earlier trip out. But Harry didn’t mind, in fact he welcomed the chill to his heated skin as he arched against Draco.

Kisses were biting wet touches that Draco marked every inch of Harry’s skin with—his tongue mapped the roads between each mark as he prepared Harry with oiled fingers. His tongue eventually joining his fingers as he prepared Harry for his cock, and not soon enough was Harry prepared.

He whined and writhed as he waited for Draco to take him. “Now, damn it, now,” he chanted, but Draco ignored his demands—until finally he was ready to take Harry.

“This is going to burn,” he said. “But I promise to go as slow as I can manage.” Harry in his blinding need swore he didn’t want it slow.

He changed his mind when Draco entered him with a rough thrust, and Harry screamed. A scream Draco half swallowed with a claiming kiss as he drove into Harry harder. “Fuck,” Draco growled, “I—I, goddess, Harry.” He was in a heated frenzy as he claimed Harry as his own. His thick cock drove into him harder—faster and soon Harry relaxed enough for it to feel pleasant and arousing.

“Yes,” he finally panted hours—or maybe minutes—later when Draco used the side of the bed. He held the edge and snapped his hips faster—going as deep as he could in his need to fill Harry with all of him.

“Harry,” he groaned when he came, a moment before he moved to bite Harry’s collarbone hard—marking him for life as Draco’s own.

 

###

 

The winter lasted for ages, and at long last spring came—bringing with it the chance to leave.

“We will journey to the north—there lies my father’s lands and more of our kind. He’s been calling to me for months, demanding I move you sooner.”

“Why were you in the woods?” Harry finally asked—for he had been wondering over this line of thought for some time. Draco seemed to be loved—he did not ever speak ill of his parents, nor his teachers on the rare occasion the subjects occurred in conversation. And some nights—those nights when Harry’s lust could not sate Draco’s nerves, he’d see Draco looking through the lone hole in the wall that faced the north.

“I came to meet Fate,” Draco said as he whistled loudly. Harry watched him with an odd look until a shrill cry sounded from the heavens and Harry looked up in surprise as well as mild fear. “Calm yourself, Harry—it is only Ondine, my familiar. She will carry us to my father’s home.”

“Fate,” Harry echoed, “You came to meet Fate?” Harry laughed, how ironic when he had come to escape the grasp of Fate. “And did you find her?” he asked curiously as he mounted the large pearl coloured dragon.

The creature chuckled and Draco grinned as he said, “I believe I did.”

When he sat behind Harry his hands went round Harry’s waist—cupping his stomach—a small jolt went through his skin to Draco’s palms. “What was that?” Harry frowned in surprise.

“My son,” Draco said as he placed a soft kiss to Harry’s neck, “The old soothsayers told me I would find him here.”

“But—how?” Harry demanded. “You said I was most likely damaged.”

“I said that, yes,” Draco spoke as the lifted into the wind, “But I knew if I mated you, you’d fall pregnant.”

“How did you know it was me—there could have been others in this forest!”

“Must you always question me?” Draco grumbled as they went faster through the air.

And they bickered all the way home.

 

The End


End file.
